


Lesson Learned

by Atypical16



Series: Proper Discipline [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Imperius, Mildly Dubious Consent, Paddling, Promiscuity, Punishment, Sexual Violence, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atypical16/pseuds/Atypical16
Summary: Pureblood witches are expected to be the image of chastity and propriety. Hortensia, a promiscuous 16-year-old student of Hogwarts, disregards those expectations until she is caught and sent to Professor Riddle.ON HIATUS





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was up sometime in the beginning of 2018 (reflected in date) before I took it down. I decided to post it again so...enjoy.

Hortensia was nervous. It was the first warm Saturday morning, which meant a Hogsmeade visit. The first half of the day’s plan was concrete—strolling with her friends—but the plan for the second half was tentative. 

Sitting in between her two best friends, Euphemia and Maggie, she slowly sipped her tea. Her stomach was too uneasy for breakfast. The outfit under her robes was the nicest she owned, save for ball gowns, but the blouse was from last year and she’d grown since then. The cotton stretched across her bust, adding to her discomfort. 

She caught the blue eye of Matthias Werner, who was not-so-subtly checking her out. The previous night, the two of them had a bit of fun, but she hadn’t let him go as far as he wanted. He was still in the beginning phase, after all. She gave him a tiny, knowing smile before turning back to her full plate. 

“Where would you like to go first, Tensy?” Maggie asked, bringing her back to Earth. 

Hortensia turned to look into her friend’s amber-colored eyes. They were on her often; Maggie simply adored her. “I’m not sure yet. Have you got any ideas?” 

As expected, the younger girl shook her head. 

“I suppose we can start at the Three Broomsticks,” Euphemia suggested. She and Hortensia were in the same year, their sixth, and more similar to each other than either of them were to Maggie, a fifth-year. 

The post came and distracted everyone for a bit, which was just as well, since Hortensia’s sleek white owl, Maisie, delivered the letter she was hoping would come:

_My dear Tensy,_  
_Please meet me by the trees behind the Hog’s Head Inn at three o’clock this afternoon. I eagerly await your arrival._

There was no signature, but she recognized the small, straight-lined handwriting at once. “Please excuse me, girls,” she told the others, folding the note and standing up. She gave Maisie a pat before the owl flew away. 

Now she had to prepare herself just a tiny bit more. Her hair and clothing were fine, but she needed to change her undergarments and add a little more makeup. After adding more blush to her cheeks and painting her full, pouty lips a berry red, she brushed her hair, admiring how the chestnut turned gold in the sunlight. Finally, after an eternity of this, or so it seemed, it was time to go. 

She pinned her small hat atop her head and met back up with the girls in the Entrance Hall. Together, arms linked with the tallest in the middle, Hortensia, they made their way to Hogsmeade. 

The sky was a clear, vivid blue, letting the white, mid-morning sun nearly blind them as they waltzed across the grass. As they passed a joking and jostling group of upper-year Slytherin boys, a couple of them wolf-whistled. “Looking good, ladies!”

Maggie blushed, but the other two brushed it off, used to hearing it. All three of them were attractive: Maggie with her wide eyes and auburn hair, Hortensia, tall with large dark eyes, and Euphemia, the quintessential high-class English blonde. The latter pair knew they had blossomed since the start of sixth year, while the former remained her usual shy self. 

“Perhaps we should try rosemary champagne,” said Euphemia as they marched in their heels down the main street. The air was perfect, warm for March. Just last week, the ground had been coated in snow, but a week of unusual sunshine had melted it all away. 

“Oh, heavens no,” Maggie replied. “I’m not yet seventeen and neither is Tensy.”

Hortensia kept quiet. She’d drunk champagne on a number of occasions, including the night before with Werner. She would’ve liked to try rosemary, as she’d only had regular, except it was expensive and, as Maggie frustratingly pointed out, she was sixteen until May.

They settled on butterbeer, sitting at a small table in the Three Broomsticks, chatting it up about lessons, eyes wandering every so often to scope out the place for wizards. Hortensia was an exception, since she was only concerned about one wizard at the moment, and he wouldn’t arrive at Hogsmeade until three o’clock. 

After finishing their mugs, the girls moved on to Madam Ensley’s dress shop. This was rather dull for Hortensia, who didn’t have as much money as the other two. Maggie would’ve lent her some, but she didn’t want anything badly enough to have that conversation. 

At two forty-five, she excused herself out of Ma Cherie Bakery, leaving the reason intentionally vague. “I’ll see you later, ladies,” she told them. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

Euphemia, who knew of the situation, winked and blew her a kiss. “Catch you later, Tensy. Come on, Maggie, let’s get some treacle tarts.”

“Alright,” said Maggie, looking slightly puzzled. Hortensia knew she wanted to know what she was planning but was too shy to come right out and ask. Maggie was better off not knowing. 

Once back on the main street, Hortensia snuck around the Hog’s Head and crept through the cluster of trees just beyond the inn’s tiny back porch. After a couple of strides into the forest, the trees grew thicker, and she spotted a hooded figure leaning against the trunk of a tall oak. He saw her approaching within the same moment, turning and stepping toward her. 

His face was not visible under the hood, but his voice belonged to the one she’d been expecting. “Good afternoon, Tensy. Shall we?” 

He extended a smooth, olive-skinned hand. She took it and they instantly Disapparated. 

After a moment of blackness and the uncomfortable squeezing sensation, her high-heeled feet landed on a clean wooden floor. She was in a bright, airy bedroom with a high window looking out into the forest they’d just come from. The blue-wallpapered room had a large bed on one side and on the other, next to the window, a small table and two chairs. 

The figure in front of her pulled down his hood, revealing black, slicked-back hair thinly streaked with grey and the handsome, unlined face of the Head of the International Confederation of Wizards, Cygnus Black. 

“My, you grow more beautiful every time I see you,” he said, bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing it, keeping his dark eyes on her. “Let’s have a seat.”

She smiled demurely, ducked her chin, and looked up through long, darkened eyelashes. “Thank you, sir.”

He gestured to the table, which had two goblets on top that she either missed or they’d just appeared. They took off their robes and draped them on the back of their chairs. Cygnus pulled hers out for her to sit before taking his own. 

“Take a drink,” he told her. “I took rosemary this time, which is a bit stronger. I do hope you like it.”

Hortensia raised the goblet to her mouth and took a small sip, careful not to smudge her lipstick. The rosemary flavor gave the drink a sharper taste, but it went down as smoothly as water. “It’s lovely, sir,” she said, batting her eyelashes. He enjoyed when she played her role of shy schoolgirl, which was made easier by her nerves. 

“Swell. It’s always a pleasure to treat my sweet girl.”

Several minutes of silence passed as they finished their goblets. Her eyes strayed to the trees and sky out the window until she glanced back at Cygnus and realized he was watching her. 

“How is your family?” she asked politely. He liked to talk about himself, and it was much easier to give a listening ear than trying to make events at Hogwarts seem interesting to someone who’d graduated a decade ago. 

“Same as always,” he answered, setting down his goblet. “My wife is miserable and ornery as usual, but my daughter is growing nicely. My, has she got a temper, though, for only four years of age. Would you like to see her?” 

At her nod, he pulled out his wallet, took out a small photograph, and passed it across the table. When she took it to inspect it, her vision blurred and her head spun slightly. He was right; rosemary champagne was much stronger. Her empty stomach probably wasn’t helping matters. 

The girl in the photograph looked like a miniature model, with thick black hair, heavy-lidded dark eyes, and the thin lips and smooth nose of her mother, Druella, who was equally stunning. Cygnus’ wife was blonde, thin, and looked nothing like Hortensia. Though Cygnus did not speak of it, she knew his daughter’s name was Bellatrix. 

“She’s absolutely beautiful,” Hortensia said with sincerity as she handed the photo back to him. 

“Quite,” Cygnus agreed, tucking it away. “I’ll have to watch her as she grows. I’ll bet she’ll have plenty of boys and men chasing her, like you. Have you found a suitor yet?” 

She shook her head and looked away. With her father’s scandal five years ago, she wasn’t counting on any worthy wizard asking for her hand anytime soon. She’d have to make a name for herself instead of relying on her family’s, like the other Slytherins could. Swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, she gave him her best charming smile. 

“No? That’s surprising. Selwyn says you’ve got many admirers.”

It took her a moment to come up with an adequate response. “They admire from afar, I suppose.” She did have many admirers at Hogwarts, but only a brave few pursued her. 

One of them being Luther Selwyn, Maggie’s older brother. He’d finished Hogwarts several years ago, but Hortensia still saw him during holidays when she visited Maggie. Last summer, the Selwyns had hosted a large, raucous party with alcohol fountains flowing and a performance by Maria Lambetti, the most popular singer in Magical Europe. Maggie, who had never had a sip of alcohol prior to the party, fell asleep early, so her brother took his chance, bringing Hortensia to his bedroom and locking the door. She’d lost her virginity to him in a drunken haze on his large, circular bed. 

“Well, good,” Cygnus said. “I’m not ready to give you up anytime soon.”

It was Selwyn who had set her up with Cygnus, since they worked together at the Ministry. She’d met with the latter twice previously: the first Hogsmeade visit of fall term and over the winter holiday. By now, Hortensia had a sense of his preferences during their encounters. 

After two more goblets and idle chatter about the Ministry and other news, they both had started to relax, their faces slightly flushed. Soon he was standing up and taking her hand. “Come here, darling.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her on his lap. The scent of his Parisian cologne filled her nose. The afternoon sunlight was starting to flood the room, she noticed, as she closed her eyes and met his lips. _It’s fine_ , she told herself, enjoying his hands around her hips. _I’ve got plenty of time._

His fingers slid through her hair, holding the back of her head, and unbuttoned her blouse. She quite liked the feel of his lips and tongue, how eager they were for her. 

Once her blouse was open, he slipped his hand under her white silk bra to squeeze a handful of pale flesh. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispered in her ear, trailing his lips down her neck. Goosebumps covered her skin, her breaths increasing. The hand released her breast and pulled up her skirt, tips traveling up her inner thigh. When they reached her lacy knickers, which were starting to dampen, they rubbed against the heated mound between her legs. This was about as far as she’d gotten with Matthias Werner, but while Werner had been awkward, hesitant, Cygnus’ movements were smooth and graceful.

“Come on, baby, undress for me,” he said a minute later, nudging her off his lap. 

Hortensia stood up too fast, causing the room to tilt. She stumbled on her heels, nearly falling sideways, but Cygnus caught her arms just in time. “I’m sorry, sir, a bit too much to drink I’ve had,” she giggled, blushing and looking away. 

“It’s alright,” he replied, unbothered, nearly salivating as he took her in. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall before pulling off her blouse, showing off her silk undergarments. He’d bought them for her himself, but this was the first time she was wearing them outside of posing in front of the mirror in her dormitory. 

With pride, she saw lust fill the man’s eyes as she stood tall in front of him, her slim, newly-developed figure on display. If it was any other male, she might have been more reluctant, but she was comfortable around Cygnus. Of course, the champagne was also a contributor. 

“Do you like what you see, sir?” she asked coyly, raising her eyebrows and smirking. 

His hand was over the bulge in his trousers, his lip caught between his teeth. “Bloody hell, come here.”

Without waiting for a response, he seized her hips and pulled her back on his lap. After unhooking her bra, he sucked on her hard, reddened nipples while she clutched the back of his head and rocked herself back and forth over the bulge between his legs. A minute or two passed like that until he threw her on the bed. She landed flat on her back, breasts bouncing freely before she cupped them, wiggling her hips to help him tear her knickers off. She was left in just her heels and hose, all else on display.

He paused, savoring the view, as she kept her knees together. Her hands kneaded her breasts, pinching her sore nipples. Slowly, teasingly, she let her legs fall open.

“So beautiful…” Cygnus’ voice was hoarse, his eyes glued to the pink flesh, glistening and inviting him to touch. He restrained himself, pulling off his shirt and leaning over her. His mouth roved over her neck and breasts, slicking up her skin. Their breaths filled the air, heating it up as fog collected on the window. She rubbed herself against him, smearing her fluid across his toned stomach. 

His lips moved lower until he was on her knees in front of her, inches away from her hot spot. After rubbing his thumb slowly over the slit, he followed with his tongue. He repeated it twice more before he parted her labia and licked her deeper. 

All of Hortensia’s muscles relaxed and her head tilted back into the mattress, her face scrunching up. “Oh, Cygnus,” she moaned, feeling his hands tighten on her thighs. She knew he liked hearing his name in her voice, heavy with desire. A wave of burning lava was searing her limbs, raising every tiny hair on her skin. 

Her back arched, her hair coming undone and gathering in her face. Her fingers buried themselves through thick, stiff hair while his tongue slid in and out of her dripping hole. Soon that was replaced with his fingers, his mouth devouring hers again. She tasted her tangy gel on his lips. 

“You’re so sweet and tight, baby,” he breathed in her ear, pushing his fingers further in. It took only three long strokes to release a burst of fluid into his palm. He brought it up to his cock and rubbed it up and down the shaft before climbing on top of her. 

She felt the dampness of his palm but not nearly as much as his fingertips pressing into her hips or his tip hitting a spot deep inside she could never reach herself. The heatwave spread through her again, rocking her hips and propelling her toward another release. “Oh, yes, Cygnus,” she cried, digging her long fingernails into his back. 

He pulled out just in time to spill a hot puddle onto her stomach, where it pooled in the groove of her hipbones. That was cleared instantly with a wave of his wand before he took her into his arms. Only the sound of their heaving breaths filled the room until Cygnus pushed her hair from her cheek and spoke softly into her neck. 

“That was only a quarter of what we’ll be up to during your break. I might need another taste of you before then.”

Hortensia, lost in a post-orgasmic fog, nodded and hummed. She was feeling quite content until she caught a glimpse of her watch and saw that it was nearly _eight o’clock in the evening._

She sat up and let out a gasp. “I’ve got to get back to Hogwarts!” Disregarding Cygnus entirely, she jumped to her feet and dressed in under ten seconds. Pinning her hat on and wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, she turned to Cygnus, who was lazily buttoning his shirt. She bade him goodnight with a pseudo-cheerful grin, chest taut with anxiety. “I’ll be waiting for your owl!” She blew him a kiss and bolted out the door. 

Earlier in the year, she’d sewn a hood onto her cloak that was large enough to fit over any hair accessory and kept her face in shadow. She pulled it over her head and slipped out of her heels before descending the creaky, narrow staircase. Luckily, she didn’t run into anyone in the inn. She crept through the dimly-lit hallway of doors and disappeared into the forest. Also fortunate was that it hadn’t rained in a bit, so her shoes and hose weren’t muddy. Her good fortune ended swiftly upon her arrival at Hogwarts, where the Head Boy was seemingly waiting for her in the Entrance Hall. 

James Dorsey, the lanky, ginger form of raging hormones, probably didn’t hate anyone in the castle more than he hated Hortensia. She hadn’t a clue why, either. She’d spoken maybe five words to him in 1955 so far, and they were all to wheedle her way out of detention. 

“Say it isn’t so!” he said in mock-surprise, clutching his chest for effect. “Has Hortensia Travers snuck out with a bloke again? Color me shocked.”

“I have not,” she snapped, her face flushing. 

“Rubbish. The whole school knows about your rendezvous with Werner. Is it him, or are you onto a new one already?”

She tried not to roll her eyes. “You can’t prove that, either. What’ll it be, then? Detention for lateness?”

“Wouldn’t that be swell, eh?” Dorsey sneered, snatching her arm and leading her down the corridor. “Oh, no, dear. We’re going to see what Professor Riddle has to say about your behavior as of late.”

Hortensia’s heart disengaged and fell into her lungs, while the lingering buzz from the champagne vanished in an instant. He was the last person in the castle she’d ever want to find out about this. She would’ve rather told her father about her activity than Tom Riddle, professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Head of Slytherin House, and the strictest figure of authority in the school, surpassing the headmaster, Armando Dippet. 

“Listen, Dorsey, let’s make a deal,” she said, trying to keep the pleading note out of her voice. “I’ll do your Latin homework for the whole week. I’m rather advanced in Latin, ask McNamara.” 

“You know what else I hear you’re good at?” 

Hortensia, arching a brow in confusion, opened her mouth, but Dorsey answered his own question. “Taking your clothes off. Perhaps you’ll offer me that next.”

“Not a chance in hell,” she shot back, cheeks tinging with anger this time. 

An ugly, affronted look crossed his face as he turned away. “I wasn’t requesting.”

She knew he was lying, but her throat was constricting further with every step closer to the dungeons, preventing her from arguing. 

“Funny how Slytherins spend so much time away from the light of day,” Dorsey remarked to no response. Once they reached the Defense room, he pushed open the door and dragged her inside, for her legs were barely functioning. 

“Professor Riddle?” he called into the still air.

The room was dark and cold, only lit by slivers escaping the gap between the office door and its frame. Despite that clear sign of him being in there, Hortensia hoped hard that he wasn’t. Of course, not two seconds later, the door opened and pale orange light flooded the room. 

A tall, dark silhouette stood in the center of the lit square, unmoving. “Please come in, Mr. Dorsey.”

Dorsey pulled Hortensia inside the office. With the warm glow of only the desk lamp and blazing fire, the room looked almost inviting, a sharp deviation from its usual appearance. The desk was tucked in a corner of bookshelves. Beyond the fireplace, two armchairs stood near the window, a small wooden table between them. 

She could not bring herself to look at Professor Riddle. Though he was only just shy of thirty, he’d been teaching for a decade; Dippet had hired him straight after he finished Hogwarts, fascinated by his brilliance. That coupled with his handsome face would’ve made Riddle the dream of all the upper-year girls if he wasn’t the most intimidating man many of them had ever encountered. A rumor floated around from time to time that he immobilized and hexed wayward students. 

“Both of you, please take a seat.” His tone was pleasant, but it had the slightest bite to it. 

Without hesitation, they reached for each of the wooden chairs in front of the desk. Keeping her eyes on her knees, Hortensia sat down. Before her rear even touched the seat, her hood was yanked off by Dorsey. She shot him a glare out of the side of her eye as she unpinned her hat and clasped it in her lap with sweaty palms. 

Riddle was silent, so Dorsey took the opportunity to fully grass on her. “Sir, I’ve caught Miss Travers sneaking back into the castle, presumably from Hogsmeade. This is not the first time she’s been caught somewhere she wasn’t allowed to be. Alone.” His blue eyes were on her now, glinting with triumph. 

Shut your damn mouth, she wished to say, but she only frowned, eyes still cast downward. 

“Thank you, Mr. Dorsey,” Riddle told him. “You may leave. Then, in a slightly darker tone, “I will take care of her now.”

Swell, thought Hortensia miserably as Dorsey rose from the chair. “Goodnight, Professor.”

His footsteps seemed too loud, the room too hot, her heart going too fast. Discreetly, she tried to take a deep breath, but her inhale was deafening, surely heard throughout the whole castle. 

The door closed behind Dorsey, leaving her alone with the professor. Though there was no substantial reason for her dizzying fear, never having been in this much trouble with him before, she had to fight it overtaking her. Would he hex her? Haul her to Dippet to be expelled? 

When Riddle finally spoke, it was in the form of a quiet command: “Look at me, Miss Travers.”

*** * * * ***


	2. Chapter 2

Hortensia raised her head to look at Professor Riddle. His eyes were dark like hers, his glare unwavering. He really was handsome, especially with his strong features arranged in a scowl. You are in deep trouble, her mind reminded her. She tucked her damp, trembling hands under her legs. 

“Tell me why you were five hours late getting back to the castle.”

She swallowed as her thoughts raced at light speed. _You can get out of this—they’ve got no proof._ Not quite as certain as the little voice inside her head, she opened her mouth. “I lost track of time, sir.”

“Doing what?”

“Walking around Hogsmeade…” Her voice was steady, upping her confidence. “I needed to be alone with my thoughts for a bit, so I ventured into the forest and got a bit lost on my way back.” She realized that her appearance suggested not a quaint walk but a struggle. Her hair was a tangled mess, exposed by the removal of her hat, and her makeup smudged, her lips bare.

Riddle continued to stare at her without a trace of an expression. A brief flashback crossed her mind: she and Cygnus Black lying on the bed undressed, woozy with champagne. Indeed she had lost track of time.

He arched a brow, keeping his face blank. “I know you were not in any forest. Your friend, dear Miss Selwyn, assured me she’d looked all over the village for you. Awfully concerned about you, she was.”

Hortensia resisted the urge to let out a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t be angry with Maggie for being her usual loyal but meddling self. No, Euphemia was more at fault for not making something up and dragging Maggie back to Hogwarts. However, all of that was irrelevant, since it was Hortensia who’d made the biggest mistake by losing track of time in the first place.

“Nothing to say?” Riddle asked in a slightly mocking tone. “Well, I’ve got to say I don’t believe a word of your little story. I think you’re a filthy liar, Miss Travers, and liars must be punished. Rise.”

Her lungs turned to lead as a rush of fear filled her chest, but she was at least able to stand up. Her hat fell to her feet, but she didn’t dare reach for it. Riddle pointed his wand at the door, which glowed with bright red grids for a moment, then at her wrist. Long snake-like ropes shot out of the tip and wrapped around her wrists, pulling them across her stomach and binding them together.

Meanwhile, Riddle had disappeared from her line of view, behind her somewhere. Her muscles were locking her in place, disallowing her to turn around and see his next move.

“Take off your robes and come here.”

 _Breathe, turn_ , her mind urged her. She tried to move just a limb, such as her pinky finger, but even that didn’t budge.

Riddle’s frustrated sigh reached her ears. “I guess we’ve got to do this the hard way _. Imperio.”_

At once, Hortensia’s mind came to a screeching halt as all thoughts cleared, calming static filling their place. Her muscles started to relax.

 _Take off your robes_ , a kind voice whispered through the air. No, it had come from her ear canal, sent from her brain. The coils parted, freeing her wrists from one another. She obeyed, draping her robes over the back of the chair.

_On your knees. That’s it, sweetheart. Now come here._

Placing one palm on the dusty floor after the other, Hortensia crawled the direction an invisible hand seemed to be guiding her in. A moment later, she reached a pair of black boots. She stared down at them, indifferent, even as she was pulled up…her bound hands draped over a man’s knee…the coils joining her wrists again and curling around the leg of a chair…

The static stopped abruptly and the predicament bombarded all of her senses in an instant. She was tied to an armchair on her stomach across the lap of Professor Riddle. The air seemed to be hovering just outside her lips, taunting her, as her emptying lungs shriveled up. _What’s happening here?_ The question flitted across her mind in an oddly calm manner in contrast to her body’s reaction.

 _Get out of here now!_ Finally, a rational voice had awakened, but of course she’d frozen up again, muscles unresponsive. Even as her skirt was being pushed up, cold fingertips grazing the back of her thigh, only her skin broke out in goose flesh while the rest of her body remained still. Another cold hand was clutching her jaw, locking her in place.

“No…” Her voice was raspy and weak but still she managed to push it out of her throat. “No, you can’t do this!”

“I certainly can,” he chuckled in response. “You see, Miss Travers, there are plenty of punishments I can give that aren’t forbidden by the Ministry. Even if magic was allowed, I wouldn’t waste any of it on you. Since you refuse to behave like a proper witch, you shall take it like a muggle.”

Before his words could sink in, a sharp smack came to her backside, stinging the skin even through her knickers. She let out an involuntary yelp as she jerked forward.

He continued speaking as if nothing had happened. “Corporal punishment, in my opinion, is by far the most effective punishment for such naughty behavior.”

Another smack caused her to cry out, eyes stinging with tears. He was using only his open hand, but it hurt so much, swelling up her skin with a handprint of angry red against white.

“What a pitiful disgrace to your bloodline you are.” SMACK!

Hortensia was starting to hyperventilate, tears leaking out of her eyes and a bit of saliva escaping her mouth, dribbling down her chin. If Riddle felt it on his hand, he didn’t let on. Her mind jammed up again, letting a shrill ringing in her ears take over. 

It subsided a moment later, and she felt his fingers dragging idly over her lacy knickers, bringing forth a shudder.

“How old are you, Miss Travers?" 

The question was so unexpected, it took a few seconds to formulate the answer. “S-sixteen, sir,” she choked out in a breathy squeak.

“Sixteen and so disgusting already? What a filthy little slut, lying with any wizard that will have you. They’ll never love you.”

After another harsh slap, her arse had gone numb, but his words were having a strange effect: they tore into her chest, pushing more tears out, but also fired up a burn between her legs. 

“Do you know why? Because instead of using your brain, you think with this.” He rubbed against her knickers, which were soaked through the lace at the crotch. Hortensia fought the urge to tilt up her hips. Slowly, he rubbed her entrance over the fabric, sending jolts across her legs and abdomen.

“Well, well, well,” said Riddle snidely, tightening his grip on her aching jaw and pressing further into her soft mound. “What’s this? The little whore wants even more?”

His fingers slipped under the lace and traced her labia, smearing her arousal on the puffy surrounding skin. Against her better judgement, she rocked back and forth, biting back a moan. Why did everything wrong have to feel so _good?_  

Just as she’d fully relaxed, he pulled his hand away and shoved her off his lap. She rolled off and landed on her back, the skin on her wrists twisting painfully against the coils. She cried out as the back of her head hit the wooden floor, but her neck muscles locked in time to avoid any real injury.

Without a word, the professor propped her up on shaky legs with deceivingly strong hands. The coils easily unraveled from the chair leg and resettled around her wrists. Only the ringing went on in her mind, her surroundings blurring into grey. She could hear her heart and lungs working doubly hard, fighting the cloud threatening to consume her vision.

A hard jolt to her hip snapped her back to full consciousness as pain shot through her bone—she’d collided with his desk.

“Lie down, my dear,” he said in a pleasant tone in contrast to the rough hands forcing her down. She had no choice but to obey, considering his wand was jammed in between two of her ribs.

The hard surface was far from comfortable, but it was cool to the touch for the swollen handprints, even through her skirt. Before she could savor it for just a second, the coils tugged her wrists over her head and latched onto something unseen.

Riddle yanked up her skirt and his eyes lowered in concentration, bit lip. He appeared akin to a Healer preparing a patient. The tip of his wand, which was thankfully off her skin, morphed into a silver point. As she looked on, bewildered, he sliced her knickers off. As he pulled the tip away, he grazed her hipbone. She felt the cold metal etch into the skin before a prick of pain, accompanied by a dotted line of blood. With his thumb, he smudged it over her skin, looking almost curious. Then he tucked his wand away and stuffed the torn lace into her mouth before pulling her legs up.

The scent of herself on his fingers had sent a searing gush of arousal straight to her legs, peeking through the slit. Riddle was, of course, watching this, holding her thighs open and studying her like she was pinned under a magnifying glass. She was half-hoping he’d touch her—more than half, if she was honest. Despite her heaving lungs and racing heart, her flesh was aching for him.

“Would you like me to touch you, dear?” he asked in a voice he’d use perhaps to read a book to a small child. The glint in his eyes told a different story; he was holding back an intense urge.

She nodded before she could think twice.

He did, but not the way she was hoping or expecting. Instead, he brought back his hand and slapped it hard against her slick pink mound.

“Augh!” She gave a muffled cry as her head and shoulder muscles gave out, dropping her head onto the table.

“You think you deserve my touch?” He slapped her again, eliciting another yelp. “This is how the little whore gets her way, by offering herself up.”

After yet another slap, he pulled the knickers out of her mouth with one hand while the other slid two fingers into the slit, right up to his knuckles. A tiny cry escaped her throat as she closed her eyes. After only two thrusts, he pulled them out, dripping with her fluid, and jammed them in her mouth.

“Do you taste all the men you’ve had in there?” he taunted, shoving his fingers deeper, leaning over and sneering at her. He’d grabbed ahold of her hair and seized a fistful, pulling it from the root.

Hortensia couldn’t give an answer even if she had one, for his fingers were digging into the back of her throat, causing her to gag. As she convulsed, kicking up her legs, he stared at her with unbridled lust, an odd red gleam in his eyes. _I’m going to die!_ Just as the thought ran through her head, Riddle took his fingers out of her mouth and clamped them again around her jaw, smearing saliva across her cheek.

Her hair was released and the sound of ruffling was heard through her heavy breaths before he filled her. His cock was larger than Cygnus,’ so her inner walls, already sore, stretched around it. In addition to that, he wasn’t gentle, pounding into her with force. His tip was hitting the sweet spot, but the pain and discomfort battled pleasure for main sensation. Meanwhile, his hand held her head in place, her scalp rubbing harshly against the desk top.

“This is what the dumb, worthless slut is good for,” he growled in between heavy breaths. “Being a little cock-toy for men to use and throw aside.”

Tears welled up in Hortensia’s swollen eyes and flowed down to her hair and ears. She had one moment of vivid clarity, long enough to tell herself this was not alright, but then Riddle adjusted her legs and began hitting the spot inside at an angle that brought intense, overriding pleasure to her every nerve.

Cry after cry escaped her raw throat with no attempt to stifle them. After a glorious minute of unyielding friction, she let out a howl as the bubble built up inside burst into a flood of release. A second later, she was filled with more hot fluid, this time not her own. It leaked out as he withdrew and turned his back on her.

All she could do was gasp and heave, trying to catch her breath. Her hands had gone completely numb and her legs shook, twitching painfully as she unfolded them. Riddle turned around, back to his usual formidable self, save for a stray lock of wavy dark hair across his forehead, and pointed his wand at the coils. They disappeared, freeing her hands. Since they were still numb and useless, she lifted herself up with her elbows.

Once she was standing on wobbly legs, bright spots dotting her peripheral vision, he grabbed her skirt, yanked it up, and cleared the pearly mess splattered in between her thighs. This allowed her to unclasp her legs and stand straight. 

“Fix yourself and get out,” Riddle ordered, pushing Hortensia roughly toward the door. She stumbled, throwing her hands up to balance herself. Hastily, she raked her fingers through her hair, pinned on her hat, slipped on her robe, and trotted to the door, eager to get the hell out of there. 

As her hand touched the doorknob, the neon red grids returned for a second, adding more spots in front of her eyes, green ones this time. No sooner than she had stepped foot in the empty Defense classroom, Riddle’s office door slammed shut behind her.

Thankfully, the Slytherin common room was only a few hops away. Since curfew had passed ten minutes ago, the corridors were clear. Pulling up her hood, she crept through the stone passageway into the common room, which was filled with students. 

“Tensy!” she heard someone call, but she kept her head down and feet moving, heading straight to the bathroom in the sixth-year girls’ dormitory.

Undressing and running a bath was a methodical procedure, but as soon as she lowered her aching body into the water, sobs tore through her chest and burst out of her mouth. She sank her face into her hands and continued to cry, albeit silently, in case any of the other Slytherin girls were in the dormitory. Maggie and Euphemia were likely to be there, waiting to hear where she’d been. Telling them the whole truth was impossible—Hortensia barely believed it herself.

Professor Riddle, up until an hour ago, was usually stiff and disinterested in the personal affairs of students. It was inconceivable that he would carry out a punishment such as that. It had been so terrifying and painful and wrong…and arousing. In the rapidly cooling water, her hand was absentmindedly sliding between her thighs. 

 _Dirty whore_ , Riddle’s voice admonished her inside her head. Her puffy eyes welled with tears for the umpteenth time again that night. She had no idea he had so much disdain toward her; her marks in Defense were decent, well enough to get her in his take-no-prisoners NEWT class.

All Hortensia knew for certain was that she never wanted to go through another hour like the previous again. _I must behave_ , she told herself firmly, scrubbing off the evidence of Cygnus and Riddle from her skin.  _I must stay away from wizards._

She was fine; she could smile and put this behind her. Yet tears continued to drip down her cheeks, even as she entered the thankfully-empty dormitory and crawled into bed, pulling the hangings all the way shut as if they could soothe her to sleep.

*** * * * ***


	3. Chapter 3

Soft fingers were grazing her temple, running though her hair and sending faint jolts of pleasure down her spine. “Wake up, Tensy,” a soft female voice sang quietly.

Hortensia opened her eyes to see Euphemia gazing down at her, sea-blue eyes filled with concern. She realized she’d been squeezing her own dark eyes shut against a recurring nightmare: crouched half-naked on a cold wooden floor, coils bounding her wrists together. It had been so vivid this time.

“What—what time is it?” She lifted her wrist, but her watch was still in the pocket of her robes. “We’re not late, are we?”

“No,” Euphemia assured her, and Hortensia finally oriented herself. The lake outside the window was brightening into green but still dimmer than the usual time to rise, seven-thirty. It was at least a couple of hours earlier. 

“The nightmare again?” her best friend whispered. Without pause, she continued to stroke dark strands from the side of Hortensia’s face, lulling her back to sleep. The nightmare was all but forgotten as her eyes fluttered closed. She was only vaguely aware of Euphemia withdrawing her hand and leaving, the mattress bouncing back to its usual shape. 

Hours later, Hortensia was awakened by the harsh ring of her alarm clock. She reached over to shut it off and swat it off the bedside table instead. It crashed to the floor, ringing relentlessly.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, seizing her wand. _“Silencio!”_

Peace at last as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. The long night came back to her in reverse, disjointed flashes: a void of complete blackness, soft caresses and whispers, and the nightmare. She knew that the wooden floor her dream-self kneeled upon was the one in Professor Riddle’s office. At night, in her subconscious, the scenario was terrifying. Yet in the few hours preceding it, awake in her bed awaiting sleep, it was arousing. The difference, she supposed, that she could control the latter and the former simply overtook her.

After dressing and brushing her hair, Hortensia left the sixth-year Slytherin girls’ dormitory, destination the Great Hall. Instantly upon entering, her eyes locked with cold, dark ones at the professor’s table before she tore hers away. This was usually the only time of day she and Riddle made eye contact, but it was every day without fail, as if he was checking that she was still there…and keeping quiet.

She was, of course. She’d dreaded the first Defense lesson after his punishment, but about halfway through, the realization came, along with palpable relief, that they were going to proceed as if the events of the previous Saturday hadn’t occurred. Now, two weeks later, she was starting to feel normal again.

Taking her seat next to Euphemia and across from Maggie, she ate slowly, listening to the other girls chatter about Divination, which she’d dropped in fourth year. Apparently, Maggie’s tarot cards were spelling out a series of odd events approaching, causing her a bit of stress. Euphemia told her it was probably a misinterpretation, but Hortensia was ready to blurt out that it was a bunch of rubbish anyway. For Maggie’s sake, she didn’t voice this, filling her mouth with eggs and toast instead.

The conversation was cut short by the morning post bringing letters to all three of the girls. Hortensia patted the silky white feathers of her owl, Maisie, as she took a folded piece of parchment gently from her beak. Maisie, who had adopted the cheeky personality of her eleven-year-old owner immediately upon being gifted to her, snatched a piece of toast before swooping out of the Great Hall. Hortensia could only chuckle and shake her head as she pulled open the note. She was surprised to see distinctly masculine handwriting instead of her mum’s or aunt’s.

_My dearest Tensy,_

_Try as I might, I cannot get you out of my head. Your touch, the feel of your skin, your taste—I want all of you. I long to spend more time with you, to enjoy your warmth and beauty. You must write back with the date of your next weekend at Hogsmeade. I can’t wait until Easter. I must see you sooner than that._

The next Hogsmeade weekend was the one after the upcoming, right between now and Easter break. The weather was consistently warmer now, and something about the spring air made Hortensia restless, itching to have a bit of forbidden fun. She would just have to be stealthier and avoid getting caught at all costs.

“Excuse me, ladies,” she told the girls. “I’ll see you in Transfiguration.”

“Are you alright, Tensy?” Maggie asked, rolling up her own letter, which was undoubtedly from her mum. “You’ve hardly said a word.”

“Oh, yes,” Hortensia replied, giving her a small grin as she rose. “I’ve got to finish my essay is all.”

Euphemia shot her a knowing glance and squeezed her hand. “See you soon, dear.”

Once back in the empty dormitory, Hortensia sat at her desk, took out a piece of parchment and her favorite quill, and wrote a response:

_Dear Cygnus,_

_The next Hogsmeade weekend falls on Saturday the 15th. I would love to see you. I enjoyed our last meeting as well._

She slipped it in an envelope and printed _Cygnus Black, Hall of the International Confederation, Ministry of Magic, London_ in block letters, trying to disguise her handwriting a bit even though she suspected the entire Hall—the male portion, anyway—knew who would be writing to Cygnus Black about a Hogsmeade weekend.

Her hand made its way up her skirt and nestled itself in between her thighs as she recalled the feel of his mouth on that very spot. She wanted to lie on her back, legs in the air, and bury her fingers into slick, soft skin, now clenching with want through the barrier of her knickers. However, there was no time for that; Transfiguration started in ten minutes. Still burning with desire, she packed her textbook in her bag and went to class, swinging by the Owlery first. 

The lessons passed with nothing out of the ordinary, only rigorous note-taking and a bit of practice. The advancement of spring had everyone else restless as well, for concentration in lessons was generally abysmal as of late.

Hortensia, Maggie, and Euphemia met up in the Great Hall and decided to stroll the grounds after supper, since they would finally have at least an hour before sunset. When they’d finished eating and chatting about random events around the castle, they headed to the dormitory to change out of their uniforms.

On the way down to the dungeons, they passed the group of upper-year Slytherin boys, led by Romulus Lestrange and his sidekick, Matthias Werner. Lestrange, who was to be wed over the summer to a girl in Beaubaxtons, did not look their way. Contrarily, Werner followed Hortensia with his eyes, biting his lower lip, as she strode by, a small smile tugging on her lips. Finally, she seemed to be back to her old self again. 

In the dormitory, each stood in front of the large mirror over Euphemia’s desk and fixed themselves up. Maggie went first, since all she wanted to do was fix one of her braids. Euphemia had suggested once that Maggie pick a more sophisticated hairstyle than two long braids, since the only blokes who’d fancy her would be “kiddy-loving freaks.” But Maggie valued practicality over sophistication, viewing fuss over her appearance as a waste of time.

Euphemia took the longest, so she and Hortensia went together, sharing makeup and combs. The majority of the student body would likely have the same idea of going to the grounds, so looking their best was important for the two girls. This time, Euphemia finished quickly and spent the remaining few minutes standing idly.

Hortensia, too busy setting her curls in place even though her hair apparently had other plans, didn’t pay her much attention, until she caught blue eyes roving down her body. The other girl was eyeing her up with an expression similar to Werner’s, lip also bit. Unable to decipher that type of look on Euphemia, Hortensia tossed the tubes and compacts back in the cosmetic bag and took her hand. “Let’s get going, shall we? Come on, Maggie.”

They got as far as the common room before they were approached by an awkward, pimple-faced boy in third or fourth year. “Hortensia Travers?” he said to Euphemia. “Professor Riddle has requested you in his office.”

Frowning in confusion, Euphemia turned to Hortensia. “Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” Hortensia answered, her mouth dry, heart beating very fast. The boy scampered off, his task complete.

“Perhaps it’s the exam from last week,” Maggie suggested, incorrectly interpreting the look on her face. “Maybe you’ve got to clarify something or other.”

Hortensia knew it likely hadn’t anything to do with the exam, but she nodded anyway. “I—I’ll meet you outside, ladies. Hopefully I’ll be just but a moment.”

“Alright, Tensy,” the other two chorused, stepping toward the stone passageway. She’d successfully masked her fear; they were not concerned for her. Neither of them were taking Defense Against the Dark Arts, so all they knew of Riddle was his reputation: strict, brilliant, commanding. 

Hortensia’s footsteps echoed loudly throughout the corridor despite her attempt at creeping quietly, regretting her choice of high heels. Perhaps if she made as little noise and took up as little space as possible, she’d disappear, which was exactly what she wished to do in that moment. 

The Defense classroom was dark and empty, the desk bare and the chalkboard a flat black. Light shone through cracks in the doorway to the office. With careful steps, she approached and knocked on the door.

It opened seemingly on its own accord, revealing the still office, lit only by a small orange fire. 

“Enter, Miss Travers,” said Riddle from somewhere inside. 

Hortensia stepped into the room, jumping when the door immediately slammed shut behind her. She turned to the large desk, which displayed a neat stack of parchment and a few textbooks, expecting to see the professor, but the seat was empty.

Half a second later, she spotted his tall frame seated in the high-backed leather armchair by the fireplace, goblet in hand. Not taking his eyes off of her, he took a sip and set it delicately on the small table beside the chair. The expression on his face was of such derision, Hortensia could feel her body shrinking, her shoulders curling inward.

“Did you really think,” he said quietly, contempt laced in every syllable, “that I wouldn’t find out about your plan? Everyone acquainted with Cygnus Black knows all about his little whore on the side. _Tensy_.”

He spat her nickname as if it tasted vile. She realized she was walking backward, hand behind her back hoping to feel the doorknob.

Her did not comment on this, reaching for something beside the chair. He brought it up over the arm and onto his lap, a flash of solid wood. With complete and numbing horror, Hortensia recognized it as a paddle, embedded with neat rows of small metal balls.

Riddle gazed down at it for a moment or two before raising his dark eyes, filled with mirth, to a frozen, trembling Hortensia. “Take off your robe and come here.”

She couldn’t make herself obey. Inside her head, logic was calmly explaining that it was not wise to defy him, while her nerves were screaming at her to do a bunk. Instinct won out over intellect, and she bolted to the door, seizing the knob in helpless desperation. Of course it didn’t turn, and the wood solidly absorbed her beating fists.

Behind her, Riddle was laughing. “Silly, stupid little girl,” he sneered. “There’s no way out. Everything stays in here—all sound, all happenings. And us, my dear.”

Fighting the urge to burst into tears, Hortensia willed herself to turn around, keeping her eyes on the floor. Her only option was to get it over with as soon as possible.

“Come here, Miss Travers.”

 _Take a step, go on_ , her mind urged, but her feet were stuck to the ground, her muscles locked in rigid place.

“Insubordinate brat, I said come _here_.” Losing patience, he flicked his wand with force, sending a sharp jolt through her entire body. She jerked forward, letting out an unflattering squeal of pain, as every nerve was zapped. It lasted less than a second, but it left a residual unpleasant tingling in her outer limbs.

Her feet were set free and, unfortunately, so were the tears. They ran down her cheeks as she walked slowly across the office. It felt like her heart was in her throat, the beats pulsing through her brain.

With shaking hands, she unbuttoned her robe and draped it across one of the chairs by the desk. Once she was in front of the professor, he raised his wand again, causing her to flinch violently.

“Get into position.”

Achingly, Hortensia lowered herself to her knees and lie stomach-down across his lap.

“Hands behind your back.”

Snake-like coils sprung out of his wand and held her wrists together, forcing them higher up her back, nearly pulling her elbows and shoulders from their sockets. Then Riddle tucked his wand away and held her jaw with one hand while the other pushed up her dress. The sound of drumming against wood came and went, then a sickening whoosh through the air and a loud SMACK of wood hitting flesh.

Hortensia shrieked and squeezed her eyes shut, pushing out more tears. The cloth of her knickers and soft pad of fat on her rear was no defense. Pain shot straight to her bones, spreading across her back, stomach and legs.

“I wonder,” said Riddle musingly, “what turned that sweet, doe-eyed first year into such a filthy whore.”

SMACK!

A shrill ringing in her ears, along with her racing heartbeat and heaving lungs, drowned out the next line of rebuke. The following smack tore her knickers, ruining the flimsy barrier against the unrelenting wood, making the next strike unbearable.

“Please!” she sobbed. “Please stop, Professor, I can’t take it anymore!” 

“Pity.” SMACK!

“Oh, Merlin!” she cried, spots dancing across her eyes. Every nerve was on fire, ready to shut her body down, seeking relief. Thankfully, before that could happen, Riddle decided to keep talking rather than raise the paddle again. 

“Perhaps dumb little Tensy misses the father who left her for someone better, so she gives herself to older men for the attention she needs. Do you hope they’ll fall in love with you, dear? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they won’t. No one will ever love you.”

Last time, when he’d similarly derided her, she was too turned on to really ponder his words, so they’d had little effect. Now, however, they burned a hole straight through her heart. Tears leaked out of her eyes and she sagged, defeated and weary. Her breathing slowed, and at last she was able to speak. “I don’t want this.”

Barely above a whisper, her voice gave out halfway through. Her jaw, still in his tight grip, ached horribly.

“Something to say, my dear?” he asked in a mock-kind voice.

“I d-don’t want this. I—w-want to-to behave.”

“Oh, now you’d like to behave? Isn’t it a bit too late for that?” His fingers dug into the raw, swollen skin of her arse, causing her eyes to smart with tears again.

“N-no, sir,” she choked out through ragged breaths. “I…can behave like a—like a proper witch.”

“I don’t believe you,” he scoffed, but her jaw was released, allowing her to rest her forehead in the crook where the arm met the rest of the chair. This, too, was studded with metal half-spheres, but these provided cool relief.

She realized after a long minute of silence that Riddle had taken his hands off of her. Now it was her wrists and arms aching terribly, but the rest of her body seemed to be functioning. Without waiting for brain signal, it brought her off his lap and onto her knees in front of him. Her ears were still ringing and her vision was threatening blackness again, dizziness washing over her. Disregarding Riddle’s likely reaction, she collapsed, resting her forehead now on his knees as tears continued to drip out, leaving tiny darkened blotches on the floor.

“Please, Professor, please—let me prove it. I’ll—I won’t misbehave, I’ll tell Black to bugger off, please…just…”

Hortensia was not even sure for what she was asking. Mercy, forgiveness, comfort, release? It didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to answer her pleas anyway. This assumption took away all reserve, so she openly bawled into his knees until they parted. A gentle hand rested her head onto his leg, her scalp tingling with soothing pleasure as his long fingers glided through her hair.

Though she was considerably more relaxed than she was five seconds ago, the crying continued as his fingers softly traced her jaw, over the curve of her ear, and through her hair. Eventually she stopped, her ragged breaths tingeing the silent air. Against the back of her head, she could feel his erection, but she barely registered it, soothed into oblivion. 

Several minutes passed like that, so calming that Hortensia nearly drifted off to sleep. His hand was lifting her jaw with only a small fraction of the force he’d used before.

She sat straight, closing her eyes as he dabbed at the wet mess on her face with a handkerchief he’d pulled out of his robes. Through the puffy skin of her eyelids, she felt the red-hot scrutiny of his gaze.

 _Dumb girl, what are you doing?_ Her mind admonished. _Get up and OUT of here!_ Instead her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him through damp lashes smeared with black mascara.

Riddle’s expression was blank. He appeared to be simply studying her face, examining it closely. He released her chin and tugged at the shoulder of her dress. “Come here.”

She rose and he pulled her onto his lap, legs apart, knees on either side of his waist. Nearly eye-level with only a foot between their faces, she was having trouble deciding where to look. His gaze was too intense—what on Earth was he expecting to see? Before she could ponder any more on that, his fingertips slid slowly up her legs, raising goosebumps all over and reawakening the clench of lust.

 _“Diffindo,”_ he said, removing the coils from her wrists. They creaked painfully as she reached forward, placing her numb hands on the top of her legs.

Pulling up her dress, he traced his fingers over the curve of her hips. Without hesitation, she raised her arms and let him take it off. A cocoon of her hair wrapped around her head, obscuring her vision.

He helped her push it off her face before pulling her closer and unhooking her bra. Once that was also thrown to the side, he grabbed her breasts, digging his fingertips into the soft white skin.

She rubbed herself against him, soaking through her knickers and dampening his trousers. A heavy sigh of pleasure passed her lips as she gripped his legs and tilted her head back, aching with desire. It mattered not that Riddle was her professor and he’d hurt her so much and told her no one would love her. These things were irrelevant in that moment, superseded by his touch.

Holding the back of her head, he pulled her toward him again, her cheek pressing against his neck. She inhaled his odd but pleasant scent, a mix of fire, an old wardrobe, and that man-scent all the others had.

Meanwhile, he was tearing the fabric of her knickers. It grazed against her burning backside, making her wince, which he paid no attention to. Instead he curled his fingers inside her dripping, clenching slit, pressing the pad of his thumb against her clit.

“Oh, yes,” Hortensia sighed into Riddle’s neck as he prodded the button of nerves deep within her. She dragged her lips and tongue across the thin skin of his neck, rocking her hips. The pressure within was starting to build, but then he withdrew his hand and nudged her off his lap.

As they both stood, he positioned her on the armchair, clutching the top edge and facing away. His hand pushed on her back, bending her over with her arse in the air. Teasingly, his knuckles grazed her labia, which were throbbing with desire. Then nothing at all for one excruciating moment, two, three…

“Please,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“Please,” she repeated, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Touch me.” She’d never asked a man outright, never had to. She simply offered and they jumped at the chance.

“I don’t give in so easily, Hortensia,” Riddle told her in his polite teacher-voice. “You’ve got to beg for it.”

“Please, Professor, please…”

He rubbed her again, chuckling drily as she arched her back. “Here, I am more than your professor. I am your master. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Frustratingly enough, he took his hand away. The absence of physical contact was driving her completely mental at this height of arousal. “Master, please,” she cried, desperate now. “Please take me.”

With relief, she heard the sound of his belt undoing. A second later, his hands held her hips as he slid his cock into the grip of bright pink. She bit back a gasp and her fingernails sank into the leather of the chair before he tugged her back, wrapping one hand in her hair and the other holding her neck. His palm was pressing against her windpipe, worrying her, but the heel of his hand, where most of the pressure was applied, was against her collarbone. Unless he moved it up, he was unlikely to strangle her.

“I can see why everyone wants you,” he growled in her ear as he thrust into her. “So eager you are…so beautiful.” Moans escaped her throat, raising in pitch as she edged nearer to climax.

“What a shame to share such beauty with anyone willing,” he continued, his breaths growing more and more labored. “But you’ve vowed not to, yes? You’re only mine now. Say it.”

“I am yours,” she squeaked, sounding like she’d inhaled some helium. His fingers were tightening around her neck, his cock pounding into her, rubbing against the sweet spot.

After another soul-shaking minute, Hortensia let out a cry of release in soprano and went limp, but her professor was not done with her yet. He let go of her hair and throat and gripped her hips, continuing until she felt a familiar burst of warmth.

He pulled out and held her in place—bent with her arse up—and watched, or so she assumed, the pearly white dripping from her opening, splattering onto the seat. Gently with his thumbs, he pulled her labia apart. Half a minute later, the mess was cleared away.

Hortensia let go of the chair’s edge and slid to the floor, her head miles in the sky. A pleasant ringing filled her ears while the tiniest glimmering spots flitted across her eyes. She’d never felt such intense sensation in her nearly seventeen years of living. Woozy as if drunk, she groped for her clothes and dressed herself, ignoring the awful stinging of her rear.

Riddle took a seat at his desk, bringing along his goblet, like the past hour hadn’t happened. For a moment, Hortensia wondered if she was dreaming, if this was prelude to the nightmare. She didn’t come to a decision, sidetracked by the recollection of his words— _so beautiful._ She grinned as she rose, turning away shyly. 

“I’ve told Cygnus Black not to go near you anymore,” Riddle told her in a monotone. “It would be unwise to contact him.”

“Yes, sir,” she mumbled, buttoning her robe with shaky fingers. She knew it was time for her to go, but for a reason she couldn’t decipher, she didn’t want to just yet. Glancing at Riddle out of the corner of her eye, he seemed indifferent to her presence. A sudden knock at the door took away her choice.

“Enter,” Riddle called, waving his wand at the door. A bright red light flooded the room, temporarily blinding Hortensia. As she blinked neon green spots away, the lanky figure of James Dorsey appeared, holding a small, sullen Slytherin by the ear.

“Oh, sorry, sir, I didn’t realize you were with a student,” Dorsey said hastily. “I’ve caught Wilkes here attempting a duel with a Hufflepuff.”

“Have a seat, Mr. Wilkes,” Riddle replied in the same flat voice. “Mr. Dorsey and Miss Travers, you are both dismissed.”

“Goodnight, sir,” Dorsey said as they left the office. Hortensia tried to slink past him, but due to his long strides, he caught up with her in the corridor.

“What were you in trouble for this time?” he needled her. “Or should I ask, which bloke was it this time?”

“Actually, Professor Riddle called me in his office to praise me on my exam score,” she lied smugly. She planned on telling Euphemia and Maggie the same to explain her elevated mood, since she had gotten a decent mark on the exam. Riddle didn’t praise any of his students for anything, but since neither they nor Dorsey took Defense, they weren’t certain of that.

“Then why do you look as if you’ve been bawling like a baby?”

She arranged her face into a frown before her eyes could widen, scrambling for a retort. “Your rancid breath is withering my delicate skin.”

“Golly, how witty, Travers,” he replied, rolling his eyes, but thankfully, he flounced off to the main corridor, leaving her alone at last.

What an odd day, Hortensia thought, trying to recall a time when she’d felt so much in such a short period, but such a time didn’t exist. Riddle had swung her back and forth like a pendulum, and she was still reeling in the aftermath, unsure of what to make of it all. Horror mixed with intrigue—she was drawn to him for a reason unrelated to his looks or sexual prowess.

 _This is lunacy_ , she scolded herself. _You need to stay away from them both, for good this time._

Yet Hortensia knew that eventually, her logic and resolve would be overrode by need. In lust, or maybe for attention, like Riddle had harshly speculated. It mattered not—whatever it was, she wanted more, not from Cygnus Black but from _him_. Professor Riddle.

 _You’re mental_ , logic hissed, but she suppressed a grin, spotting her friends and waving.

*** * * * ***


	4. Chapter 4

The Annual Pureblood Easter Dinner would be held at the Nott’s this year on the tenth of April. Hortensia had been counting down the days since her returning home from Hogwarts. Holidays in a cramped London flat were no fun, especially for a restless teenage witch. To make matters worse, in true London fashion, it rained the entire week.

At last the tenth arrived, and so the hours until six o’clock passed in a dull haze, most of them spent in front of the mirror, posing and brushing and smoothing. Hortensia made sure here eyeliner and lipstick were flawless, her hair a cascade of glossy waves. When it was all said and done—with an agonizing forty-five minutes to spare—she backed up and took a long look at herself, intending to find flaws. What she did find, however, was that she no longer resembled a child. A sophisticated young witch stared back at her. In her dark eyes was a glimmer of mischief.

“Don’t even think of it,” she told herself sternly as she turned away.

Eating was pointless, since there would be a feast shortly following the guests’ arrival. More importantly, her stomach had to stay flat. Her dress was a deep plum, flowing out from her waist and clinging to her bust, revealing just a hint of cleavage. Just as her hand turned the doorknob, she walked back to the mirror for another glance. Best to make sure she was one of the most attractive at the event. 

The rest of the flat was silent except for raindrops clattering against the shaky windows. Quite a downgrade from the Travers Manor, Wisteria Gardens was situated on the border of Muggle London, the very last building of the wizarding block. The gold Alistair Travers paid them dutifully every month could afford them something better, but this was the farthest her mum could get from the heavy cloud of shame surrounding the scandal without risking contact with the impure.

Heels clomping on old wood, Hortensia crossed the sitting room to the closed door of her mother’s bedroom. “Mum,” she called, knocking lightly. “I’m going to Euphemia’s tonight.” 

No answer. “Mum,” she repeated sharply, staving off a flood of annoyance. Her mother, Peony, had a knack for blocking out her surroundings. Though Hortensia knew Peony couldn’t care less or, more likely wouldn’t notice she’d gone, she barged into the room anyway.

“Mum, I’m going with Euphemia, alright? I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

Her mother was in her usual spot on an old wicker chair next to the window, staring through the rain-streaked glass. Hortensia had tried to get her into books instead of all that sitting and staring, but she would’ve had better luck teaching a bowtruckle to sing the Hogwarts School Song.

Peony had been pretty once—her daughter’s large eyes and sleek hair had come from her. After Alistair Travers—or, as Hortensia preferred to call him, The Tosser—left, knocking his family down the social ladder on his way out, Peony had begun to look withered. Her shoulders had a permanent slump and her eyes were clouded over. 

“Alright, then,” she responded in her wisp of a voice. 

Hortensia did not bid her goodbye before closing the door again. She hated interacting with her mother when she behaved like a dead fish. Thankfully, Euphemia Apparated into the sitting room a second later, pushing the encounter out of Hortensia’s mind.

“Damn, Tensy,” her best friend remarked, raising her eyebrows. “Trying to catch a mate, are you?” 

“No,” said Hortensia hastily, but Euphemia merely winked and held out her hand. She looked quite nice herself in robes of velvet clinging to her hourglass figure. She didn’t ask where her mother was, already knowing the answer. She’d met Peony only twice, despite being in the flat many times.

Hortensia clasped her hand and they twisted into darkness and suffocating pressure, landing in the foyer of Nott Manor. Directly overhead, a new crystalline chandelier cast twinkling light on pearly marble streaked with green and gold. 

Though Euphemia was also wearing six-inch heels, she was shorter than Hortensia, forcing her to tilt her chin up slightly as she spoke. “Come,” she said, keeping her fingers laced in hers.

They made their way to the dining hall, where twenty or so wizards and witches were seated around a large mahogany table. Hortensia’s stomach always seized up when she took in the guests at a dinner party. Her parents weren’t so moronic to show up, but she knew that, despite the scandal, The Tosser was always invited. An internal sigh of relief passed through as she took note of all the guests: Rosier, Avery, Lestrange, Black, but no Selwyns—Maggie and her family had gone to the Swiss Alps this holiday. 

It was generally awkward occupying the same room as Cygnus and his wife. Druella’s cold grey eyes lingered on Hortensia a little too long, almost as if the older woman was starting to suspect something. No, impossible…

“Come,” Euphemia muttered again, tugging her hand toward the opposite end of the table. Since they were the youngest save for the little kids, the girls were stuck next to them. Fortunately, Evan Rosier, who had graduated two years ago and taken a fancy to Euphemia, passed them goblets of champagne.

“To Cygnus and his lovely wife,” Seville Nott, Euphemia’s father, said as they raised their goblets. “For continuing to pass on their noble bloodline!”

At the majority’s confused faces, Cygnus clarified, “We’re expecting another child.”

The room instantly filled with hearty congratulations, the toast put on hold. Hortensia took the opportunity to drain her goblet and take the bottle under Romulus Lestrange’s nose to pour herself more champagne. No one noticed, occupied with the couple on the opposite end.

Euphemia was surveying Hortensia intently, searching for a reaction. Hortensia had none to give—she wasn’t the least bit bothered what Cygnus did with his wife.

After a fair amount of honey-glazed ham, roasted potatoes, Brussel sprouts, along with three more glasses of champagne and two of red wine, the heat was filling Hortensia’s head, making her drowsy. The little children scampered off to the yard and Euphemia was absorbed in Rosier, so she excused herself to freshen up.

Upstairs was starkly cool and quiet compared to the dining hall. Heels clicking against marble, Hortensia headed straight to the guest washroom, which was nearly half the size of her flat. She always felt like a princess in here, spending extra time blotting her cheeks and brushing her hair. Soon the time to meander had run out, for Euphemia would come looking for her.

Hortensia left the washroom and took about three steps until someone seized her hips from behind.

“What—?”

“Shh, don’t speak, baby.” The low voice and Parisian cologne were unmistakable: Cygnus. 

He was guiding her into a room, holding her waist as she stumbled. Somewhere between the washroom and here, the drunkenness had intensified. 

“Goddamn, you are smoking hot,” he said, standing inches in front of her, pushing her against a wall and running his hands over her chest, down her torso. She still hadn’t an idea in which room she was and unlikely to find out, for Cygnus had his champagne-soaked lips on her neck, kneading her breasts.

“Wait, Cygnus,” she breathed, pulling away, the back of her head crashing against the stone wall. “This isn’t a good idea…” Her palms pressed into his chest.

“Don’t you dare tease me,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the wall. He released her a second later, sliding up her dress. 

“Don’t.” The word came out artificial, unconvincing. He proceeded as if she hadn’t spoken, running his tongue along the curve of her breasts. Her hands gripped his shoulders, but they no longer pushed him away. Clenching with arousal, Hortensia leaned back as his fingers met their destination, moving her knickers aside and rubbing slick, heated flesh.

All of the sudden, the door burst open. With all her might, she shoved Cygnus’ shoulders, nearly pushing him to the ground. He immediately straightened up and turned toward his cousin, Orion, standing in the doorway. _“What?”_  

“Druella’s looking for you,” Orion informed him in a bored voice. Hortensia adjusted her dress as surreptitiously as possible, but neither of them were looking at her anyway. 

“Until next time,” Cygnus said with a scowl before slamming the door shut behind him in frustration. 

She was still breathing heavily, horrified at what she’d nearly done. Cygnus had almost seduced her entirely. How could she have given in so easily? Never again, she swore to herself firmly.

Looking around the pink and white wallpapered room, Hortensia recognized it as belonging to Euphemia’s older sister, Madeira, who was thirteen years her senior. Madeira had, at the age of fifteen, run off and married a Russian wizard wealthier than the entire Sacred 28 together. She’d left behind a portrait—a sharper, stunning version of Euphemia turned her nose up at Hortensia.

Though she should have returned to the party and excused herself properly, Hortensia crept to Euphemia’s room instead. The Notts were inebriated by now anyway, and she did not wish to draw more attention to herself.

From Euphemia’s large, double-doored wardrobe, she selected a night dress and changed into it. The lace of her knickers, stiff with dried fluid, were irritating her, so she took them off and stuffed them into the pocket of her dress. The night dress was a bit loose, since Euphemia was thicker, more developed. Hortensia frowned at herself in the large Venetian mirror hanging above the vanity. “No more,” she repeated to the reflection for good measure.

The sheets and night dress were both made of silk, cool against her burning skin. Seconds after she nestled her head in the pillow, she drifted off to sleep.

An indeterminate amount of time later, she was awakened by the door swinging closed and light footsteps crossing the room. She opened her eyes and saw with relief that it was Euphemia. Her best friend copied her action, selecting another night dress and undressing. Hortensia was still very drunk, the room tilting, so she closed her eyes and turned on her side.

Euphemia sank between the sheets a second late, lying on her back. “I think Cygnus Black is looking for you,” she informed Hortensia in a monotone, glazed eyes on the ceiling.

Hortensia didn’t want to tell her he’d already found her, so she asked instead, “What’s got you so blue?”

The other girl sighed. “Luther Selwyn’s engaged to Halcyon Church.”

“Alright…?”

Euphemia turned on her side, facing Hortensia. “I was hoping to catch him.” 

“Oh?” said Hortensia, trying to hide her surprise, since Euphemia had never mentioned this fancy before. Then she smiled. “It is still possible.”

“I guess,” Euphemia mumbled.

“What about Rosier?” 

“He’s a moron.”

She looked so oddly forlorn that Hortensia felt the need to comfort her. Not quite sure knowing how, she settled on reaching out and stroking the hair from Euphemia’s face, like the other had so often done to her.

Her blue eyes glazed over even more as her face slackened, eyelids heavy. She returned the favor, grazing Hortensia’s scalp with soft fingertips. Hortensia’s own eyes were closing, but still she continued to drag her fingers through Euphemia’s wispy blonde hair. Hot breath tickled her cheek and when she opened her eyes, she saw that Euphemia had moved closer, her face only inches away.

Hortensia was unconcerned; Euphemia was now stroking behind her ears and neck, raising goosebumps on her arms. Then she felt soft lips against her own. Unlike Cygnus,’ these were slow and gentle. Filled again with waves of desire, Hortensia parted her lips, her tongue sliding against Euphemia’s. They moved closer still, chests pressed together.

Euphemia’s hair fell over her face, creating a partition from the outside world, while she pulled down the strap of her night dress, exposing the other girl’s breast, the pad of her thumb grazing her stiffened nipple.

The gentle strokes, Euphemia’s mouth on her neck, her sweet lavender perfume mixed with sweat and wine—all of it went straight between Hortensia’s legs, spreading piercing need through all of her nerves. Light fingertips were trailing up her thigh, sliding the silk up with it. Then Hortensia realized that this was _Euphemia_ and just _what in Merlin’s name is going on here?_

Her muscles locked, which Euphemia picked up on right away. She rolled off of her and withdrew her hand, propping her head up on her elbow. “It’s alright, Tensy,” she assured her, running her fingers along Hortensia’s jaw. “No one will ever know.”

That was believable enough; Euphemia had never gone back on her word. But her caress brought the recollection of Riddle’s, along with his words telling her she was _his_. But Riddle was in Hogwarts and Euphemia here and anyway, she was a _girl_ , so he likely wouldn’t count her. This was assuming he’d even find out.

“Is it because we’re both...?”

Hortensia shook her head in earnest. It was natural for girls to explore each other, she told herself despite the very different view many others had on the matter. “No.”

She reached up and tucked Euphemia’s hair behind her ear, dragging her hand down to her chest until it was filled with ample breast. Euphemia was more endowed, her bust larger and rounder. Hortensia slipped her hand under the tight-fitting silk and dug her fingers into it while Euphemia’s made its way between her legs again.

“No knickers?” she breathed into Hortensia’s ear as her fingers sank into raw, wet heat. Hortensia’s face scrunched up and her mouth opened, back arching as Euphemia’s fingers slid in and out of her.

“You’re so pretty, Tensy,” she heard her best friend saying between gasps. Then Euphemia moved lower, climbing over the other’s leg and ducking her head to close her lips around her labia, spreading her legs wider. 

Panting heavily now, Hortensia tightened her fist around fine blonde hair and rocked her hips. Euphemia kissed her labia like she’d kissed her lips: softly licking and sucking. “Oh, yes,” Hortensia whimpered. “Like that, baby—ah!” 

Euphemia increased her pace with her fingers, pulling the other’s clit between her lips. A minute or two later, a gush of fluid spilled into the palm of her hand. Before she could do anything further, Hortensia had her pinned down, kissing her roughly, yanking up her night dress.

“My turn,” she teased, her fingertips digging into Euphemia’s thick inner thigh as she pulled her legs apart. Without hesitation, Hortensia pulled the blanket off and lie on her stomach, naked arse up, with her face between the other’s legs. Half of her was hoping one of the younger men would barge in the room and see her swollen labia in full view, dripping with arousal.

She’d always enjoyed her own taste, licking the fluid from her fingers after solo pleasure, and she was happy to find that Euphemia tasted and felt the same. She applied Cygnus’ techniques: sliding her tongue into the slit and flattening it out when it reached her clit.

“Oh, Tensy,” Euphemia cried, bucking her hips and grabbing onto chestnut locks as the other girl licked her out. Apparently, this technique was universally pleasing, for a mere minute passed before Hortensia’s mouth filled with tangy, sweet fluid. Propping herself up on her elbows, she lay on top of Euphemia and captured her mouth with hers.

After swallowing the mixture of their body fluids and licking her lips, Hortensia slid her hand back in between Euphemia’s thighs and pressed the pads of her fingers into her mound over her throbbing clit. She wanted to thrust her fingers inside of her but was afraid her long nails would hurt her. Euphemia followed suit, sending jolts through Hortensia’s lower body.

Making out between moans, the two girls rubbed each other to their second climax simultaneously, dampening the bedsheet beneath them. Disregarding that and the splatters between their legs, they entwined their bodies and snuggled up to each other under the blanket. 

“That was so nice, baby,” Hortensia mumbled sleepily, tucking her head under Euphemia’s chin and burying her face in her chest. Her best friend hummed in agreement, kissing the top of her head and smoothing back her hair.

The scent of female orgasm filled the air, thick and damp with heavy breaths. Eventually, the girls fell asleep in each other’s arms, unconcerned about the world beyond the bed, riding the heavy, drunken wave of carnal pleasure.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Back to Hogwarts—Hortensia had never been so thrilled. In the castle, the strangeness that had been the holiday was no longer on the forefront of her mind. Euphemia behaved normally, like that drunken night hadn’t happened, and Hortensia was happy to follow suit. 

Not that it hadn’t been enjoyable. She had to admit, she had quite some fun rolling in the sheets with her best girlfriend. That sentiment was overtaken by shame as soon as she entered the Great Hall on the first day of classes. Those dark eyes were on her, searching, scoping her out. She kept her head down as a burst of guilt and fear surged through her chest.

It’s alright, she told herself. It wasn’t like Riddle would find out. Not about Euphemia anyway, but Cygnus Black might— 

“Travers.” A hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around. Startled, she found herself face-to-face with James Dorsey sans pompousness.

“Listen, I, erm, need your help,” he said somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve got a Latin essay due, see, and I need it edited. Talk in the corridors say you’re the best in Latin.”

Hortensia’s first instinct was to tell him to sod right off. She suppressed that, raising her eyebrows and pointing out coolly, “I’ve told you that myself. When you hauled me to Riddle, remember?”

Dorsey tucked his weak chin and lowered his voice. “I’ll not do that ever again. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, hoping it didn’t come out hasty. “Be at the library at half-three.” 

They parted ways and sat at their respective tables. Hortensia nibbled at her toast, pretending to listen to Maggie’s wonderful trip to the Alps. She felt a bit bad for tuning the girl out, but at least she wasn’t as blatantly disinterested as Euphemia. Maggie picked up on this and fell silent, so Euphemia took the opportunity to ask her, “What of Luther? Is he happy with that Church girl, then?”

“Oh, yes! Halcyon is just delightful…”

Hortensia excused herself to get a head start on preparing for the day. She had a few difficult classes on Mondays, including Arithmancy and Transfiguration, though thankfully not Defense. By tomorrow, she supposed, the guilt would wear off.

Lessons passed without much out of the ordinary. Students and staff alike were still in relaxation mode, so many of the lessons allowed for chatter in the beginning. Here, Hortensia learned of other notable events at the Pureblood Dinner, such as Orion Black getting so drunk, he danced on a table in the parlor before his ill-tempered wife, Walburga, broke a glass against the back of his leg.

At half-three, Dorsey was waiting for her at a table near a large window in the library. Hortensia summarily read through his essay, adding corrections here and there, reminding Dorsey to uphold his end of the deal.

Supper, too, passed uneventfully. She took her regular seat between the girls. Riddle was absent—the only meal he took in the Great Hall was breakfast.

Now Euphemia was the one talking non-stop. Enemy of the month had switched from Clovis Grisham to Himalia Pagden, that “frog-faced slag.” Evidently, Himalia was mocking Euphemia’s failed Aguamenti Charm.

Hortensia privately thought Himalia was rather pretty, but of course she would never voice this to Euphemia. Her best friend liked when she held her hand, so Hortensia took it and rubbed her thumb along Euphemia’s knuckle.

“Pity it’s raining,” Maggie said when Euphemia paused to take a breath. “I really fancy a walk.”

“We can take one around the castle,” Hortensia suggested. “Perhaps we could find an unexplored path." 

“That’s a brilliant idea, Tensy!” Maggie replied with enthusiasm, clapping her hands. “What do you say, Euphemia?”

“I don’t care,” said Euphemia distractedly, looking across the Great Hall. “As long as we get far away from the frog.” 

They returned to their dormitory to get ready, which did not take long, since they were not likely to run into many of their peers. “Shall we start on the third floor?” Maggie asked as they left the common room. The other girls nodded in unison, not really caring where they went.

Once they arrived on the second floor, however, they were accosted by James Dorsey. “Travers,” he breathed. “Come with me.”

He didn’t give her a choice, snatching her arm so fast, her hand slipped out of Euphemia’s grip. Euphemia looked affronted, but Hortensia simply told them, “I’ll be back in just a moment. Go on to the third floor and I’ll find you there.”

She assumed Dorsey was taking her back to the library to fix another sentence, as he’d gotten quite neurotic about that damn essay toward the end. Then they turned down a different corridor, seemingly headed for the dungeons.

“Er…where are we going?” Hortensia asked him.

“Riddle.”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong.” Her voice came out high-pitched and whiny, like a ten-year-old’s. “It’s not been a day and you’re already going  _back_ on your _word_?”

“It’s not my doing, Travers,” he snapped. “He’s requesting you.”

“Hmm…” She was momentarily undecided if this was a good or bad thing. She went with the former, since she’d done nothing much in the twenty-four hours she’d been at Hogwarts.

However, when they reached the Defense classroom, her body was screaming a different story. No doubt she was in trouble, but how? How on Earth had he found out what she’d been up to so soon? Cygnus must have told him…

 _Don’t worry_ , a voice assured her. _He didn’t; he was likely too drunk to remember it anyway. You’re fine._ Why was her gut telling her otherwise?

Dorsey knocked on the door to Riddle’s office. It opened on its own accord, revealing the dimly-lit wooden floor and shadows of the armchairs.

“Enter, Mr. Dorsey.”

The pair of students stepped into the office. “I’ve fetched Miss Travers for you, sir,” Dorsey announced as if Hortensia was invisible by his side.

Professor Riddle looked up from a thick book with tiny print lying amid sheets of parchment sprawled across the desk. With no expression on his handsome face, he told Dorsey, “Thank you, Mr. Dorsey. You may leave.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the younger wizard with a touch of relief. No sooner had the words left his mouth, the office door closed behind his retreating back. The sound of a lock clicking and a bright flash of red light filled the room for a moment before the professor gestured to the wooden chair in front of the dress. 

“Have a seat, Miss Travers.” 

Hortensia obeyed, smoothing down her robes with sweaty palms. Her mind was flipping through reasons for his summons but coming up short. Already anything strictly academic was ruled out by the wards on the office, sealing her inside.

“How was your holiday, dear?” he asked, closing the textbook and rolling up one of the scrolls. “Did you behave yourself?" 

“Yes, sir.” She tried to inject some confidence into her voice, but it still came out squeaky.

His dark eyes briefly met hers before returning to his notes. He took his time collecting them and rolling them up, not speaking. Hortensia was trembling all over, but that didn’t prevent her from watching his hands working with the scrolls, imagining them around her waist. She bit her lip as a tiny clench formed between her legs. 

That was halted instantly when Riddle raised his eyes again. This time, they were filled with contempt, his lips tightened with anger. “Are you telling the truth, Miss Travers?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Still taking his time, he cleared his desk, while sweat gathered on her palms and brows, chest stiffening. Did he believe her, or…?

“Well, I know you’re not. I’m not surprised you’re not, as I know you’re a filthy little liar.” 

Her blood ran cold as he glowered at her, eyes boring into hers. “ _Disgusting_ girl you are. Have you no decency, no limits?”

She lowered her eyes, cheeks flushing with shame. At the moment, she hated Cygnus for putting her in this predicament, though she had reciprocated. 

“Stand up, Miss Travers,” Riddle commanded, slamming one of the desk drawers shut and rising. She followed suit, propping herself up on weak knees as he approached.

“Bend over,” he said briskly, placing a hand on her back and pushing her onto the desk in one fluid motion. Hortensia turned her head just in time to avoid smashing her nose into the wooden surface. Something cold and rubber-like was pulling her wrists, twisting her arms, and wrapping around them, presumably the black coils he’d conjured last time. 

She felt her robes lifting. Gentle fingers lifted her wrists and tucked the bunch of fabric between them and her back, leaving her knickers exposed. Jammed between the desk and her heaving chest was her wand, the tip digging through the pocket of her robes, into her ribs. 

For a moment, nothing at all, but then she felt tugging on her knickers, the ripping of fabric cutting through the air. At once, they dropped to the ground.

She heard him take a step backward and waited, breath hitched in her throat. Apparently, he was simply staring at her. Then he was moving away, shuffling on the other side of the room. He was just out of view and her head could turn no further. 

Once he came back, he wasted no time swinging what could only be the metal-studded paddle against her bare arse. It collided with a horrifying slap echoing around the room, bringing forth a screech of agony from Hortensia’s mouth.

When it came a second time, a shrill ringing started in her ears and drool escaped her lips, pooling onto the wood and wetting her right cheek. “Please!” she cried. “Please, no more!”

Her professor chuckled, digging his fingers into the raw, bruised skin of her rear. “Your punishment isn’t even half over, darling. You want to behave like a whore? Now you will be punished like one.” 

“He came on to me!” Hortensia bawled in desperation. “I didn’t ask for it!”

“And yet you accepted it.” SMACK!

“And enjoyed it,” he continued over her shriek.

The next hit released all the air from her head, leaving her breathless and woozy. Stars were multiplying in front of her eyes, the ringing taking over all else but his next acid-dripping words.

“Little whore, two in one night? Sure, I acknowledge that Black has no self-control, but I was surprised to find that the Nott girl has such a dirty secret.”

Hortensia’s breath dissipated in her lungs. How on Earth did he know that? Did Euphemia _tell_ someone—SMACK!

“Augh!” she hollered, stars consuming her vision. “No—!” SMACK! The skin along her temple and jaw rubbed painfully across the wood. 

“Two filthy bitches in heat,” he was saying, voice laced with disgust. “There must be a proper pureblood witch in this school. Perhaps dear Margaretha would suit my needs.”

Searing, unexpected anger at Maggie surged through her blood. Before she could reason with herself that it wasn’t logical, the paddle connected with her arse, snapping open the top layer of skin on both cheeks and throwing her into blissful blackness.

It lasted only for the few seconds Riddle released Hortensia, letting her slide to the floor. When the blackness spat her back out into reality, she found herself sprawled on the floor next to the wooden chair. The light from the fire, dim as it was, shot straight through her eyeballs and pounded against her brain. She let out a mewl of pain, covering her eyes. 

“On your hands and knees, Miss Travers,” Riddle’s voice ordered from somewhere yonder. “And come here.”

Trying to catch her breath and slow her heart, she placed her palms against the floor and pushed herself up, realizing just then that the coils were gone. Every muscle screamed in protest, pain radiating from down her legs and up her spine.

“Let’s go,” he said impatiently. 

Trying not to cry out, Hortensia slowly lifted her head and saw him seated in the armchair, facing her, about ten feet away. He was smirking, enjoying the sight of her broken on the floor.

You can do this, the reassuring voice prompted, but she no longer trusted it, for it had been wrong last time. Still she hadn’t any other choice. Moving her hands and knees in synchrony, biting back sharp inhales, she crawled across the floor until she was looking down at a pair of black boots.

“Pity, you were so promising,” he mused as she stared glumly at his shoes. “Now I’ve got to find another witch.”

Tears sprang to her eyes before he’d even finished his sentence. Despite what he’d just put her through, Hortensia did not want Professor Riddle to find another witch. She wanted to be his only. “Please don’t,” she whimpered. “Master, I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”

“Your words are worthless,” he hissed. “You are a liar and a slut, which in turn, makes _you_ worthless. I have no use for you—unless…”

As she openly cried into her hands, he parted his legs and unbuckled his belt. “Come here for your last chance to prove you’re not entirely useless.”

She wiped her eyes and lowered her hands to see him pulling out his cock less than a foot away from her face. Blushing furiously, she peered up at him through a lock of hair over her left eye. 

He was gazing down at her with a hungry gleam in his eyes, like he wanted to choke her and ravish her at the same time. “Take it in your mouth.”

Looking away, she moved closer. As soon as she was within his reach, he snatched a fistful of hair and pulled her head forward. Her mouth automatically opened and she did as she was told, her hands gripping his thighs. 

The first minute was awkward—she had never performed such an act, so her mouth moved clumsily, her teeth scraping over the velvet skin. “Open your mouth more and use your lips,” he directed softly. “Yes, that’s it, good girl…" 

Soon she got the hang of it, forming a wet cocoon of lips and tongue around his cock. His fist tightened in her hair and he inhaled through his teeth. “Keep going, that’s a good girl.”

Emboldened by his praise, Hortensia closed her eyes and slowed her pace, pulling on the skin with her lips and inside of her cheeks. He clearly enjoyed that, growling and tilting his hips to drive deeper down her throat. Just as she thought she’d choke, he yanked her head back and released a gush of hot fluid over her face. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut, but none got near them, landing mostly on her nose and cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and met Riddle’s, which were filled with mirth, as he adjusted his clothing.

“You’re prettiest like this,” he told her before clearing the fluid away. “Perhaps I’ll keep you.”

 _Please do!_ She wished to shout but kept quiet and sat back on her feet, unsure of what to do.

“You are dismissed, Miss Travers,” Riddle said as he stood and walked back to his desk without another glance at the girl.

Aching and wincing, Hortensia got to her feet and trotted out of the office without further thought. The urge to burst into tears was overwhelming, but she managed to hold it in before she entered the thankfully-empty girls’ dormitory. 

Euphemia and Maggie could’ve been back any moment, so Hortensia grabbed her night dress and bolted into the bath. There, a similar story to the last aftermath of Riddle’s summons played out: running the bath, slipping inside the water, and dissolving into tears.

“This is all your fault,” she muttered to no one after she’d cried herself into exhaustion, the bathwater cooling around her beaten body.

She was talking to herself. If she’d just listened to Riddle, he wouldn’t have punished her. Every stinging word he’d said was true.

And Euphemia—had she told someone? Had anyone overheard them? If that was the case, why did Riddle seem to be the only one who knew of it? Surely the news would’ve spread around the castle by now. Then again, Hortensia had been in seclusion for a bit. Her chest flexed and tightened with anxiety, trying not to imagine her classmates’ leering faces, taunting her. She and Euphemia would be ostracized, Hortensia’s already-precarious reputation plundered…

 _This is all your fault, you stupid slag_ , a sharp voice in her head admonished, taking on the tone of Riddle’s. _You deserve this._

The tears came back as Hortensia sank her face into her hands again, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The water grew cold as she continued to cry, hating her circumstance but most of all hating herself. She didn’t want to be this easy lay that anyone could take advantage of. She wanted to be Professor Riddle’s _good girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, sorry to say I have to put this on hiatus due to not having the rest of the chapters written yet. Also, a full plate IRL & my other WIP are feasting upon my time. I'm 99% certain this will be continued at some point so feel free to stick around. :)


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